MOON FALL - CHAPTER ONE

 

"Hey Crowe, did you hear?" Glass-eyed Gary said to me, winking his one good eye. He was just loud enough to be heard over the one man band playing in the corner. "They say the Nightstalker's returned. Just hit a dirigible just off the coast of the Carolinas."

I hesitated, shot glass halfway to my lips. The clear liquid within sloshed silently against the sides before I finish the motion, downing the drink before setting the glass on the bar counter top. Cool and quick, the water is only as refreshing as if I had splashed it on my face. I turned and looked Gary's way.
"I apologize." I began. "What did you say?"
The saloon was one of the cleanest establishments in Newsome City. Finely polished, the hardwood bore hours and hours of hand tooled vines and leaves in every available surface and filled in with transparent wax. The wood had a warm feeling to it that was improved by the cheery red velvety colors of the seat cushions and draperies. The expert sounds of the band's brass instruments was peppy and cheerful.
It clashed miserably with my sudden sense of confusion.
Glass-eyed Gary shuffled onto the stool next to me. The man was a portly sort, sallow faced but never somber. Ever since the airship accident that cost him his eye, he developed an exuberant energy far greater than one would think could be attained by someone maimed in such a manner.
One of the local sawbones had fixed him up excellently, but his eye was already a distant memory. Instead, Gary had a monocle mounted on an eye patch he wears over his ruined eye. The thing is his namesake, and he, as usual, was in high spirits. His suit jacket hung on the rack alongside mine, and his purple trim vest and white shirt looked clean and crisply pressed. He was a clean dressed, finely scented member of Newsome City's society.
"I said." Gary told me. "That the Nightstalker has returned!"
Well that's impossible. I sighed. "So tell me," I shot back at him. "Where did you hear that?"
Gary smiled at me, adjusting his monocle. "I thought you'd never ask!" He declared.
"My cousin Franco working the skydocks was expecting a shipment from one of the trade dirigibles that come in every month." Gary starts. "But it never came in. So three days later Franco gets the city to dispatch a cutter to see if we can render assistance, help tow them into town, what not."
I nod, gesturing to the barkeep for another drink. The mustached man nods, setting down the glass he was polishing to pour me another shot of filtered water. He slides it down the bar, and I catch it carefully. I set another nickel on the table and turn my attention back to Gary.
"So they set out." Gary continued, as if I had been paying attention the whole time. "And lo, they find most of the ship's wreckage scattered all over three square miles of ocean!"
I toss back the water and set the glass down. "Did they try to set down?" I asked. "Dangerous to try it out over the Atlantic."
Gary waved to the bartender. "I'll have something with a little more kick, please." he said, placing a quarter on the bar. Luis dug under the bar and pulled out a thick dark glass bottle. He poured some into a short glass and set it onto the counter. Luis pocketed the quarter while Gary took a sip of the drink.
"Ah..." he said. "This was your what, 14?"
"1812." Luis replied, putting the bottle away. "Hard to find these days."
"Hard to find any liquor of this quality before the fall." Gary replied.
I lean back. "I've got to be going, mate." I mutter. Gary grabbed my arm before I could fully hop off the stool.
"Wait." he says. The humor fading from his face. "They didn't break up trying to put her down in the ocean, and they hadn't been hit by a moonfall. From the wreckage they found a single survivor."
I pull myself back into my seat. "A survivor?" I ask.
Gary nods. "A survivor. She was delirious from being afloat in the water for nearly two days by the time Franco got to her."
"Did she survive?" I ask. "What did she say?"
Gary shrugged. "Franco said she muttered something about sails as black as deepest night, and silent as the grave. Then she was too out of it to speak any further. She's at the Sawbone's right now sleeping it off."
I frown. The Sawbones, whose name was Victor, was a competent chirurgeon and field doctor. In a trade town like Newsome, zeppelin sailors almost always came into port with some injury or another in need of treatment. Occasionally there'd be a mishap at the dock, like what happened to Gary. She'd be in good hands.
"Silent as the grave." I mutter.
"Quiet your voice!" Mister Sluice whispered harshly. "Ya'll remember your part?"
I nod my head alongside five other men and women. Dressed in black cloth, tightly fit leather packs and flirearms at our hips. We each clutch a skyhook in our hands, the silver sheen dulled with rubbed on soot.
"Good." Sluice whispers. The creak of the sails is the only sound heard over the sound of the wind slipping past our hull. He leans over the side, glancing down. He turns back to us. "They'll be under us in ten seconds. Go!"
We jump.
I look up at Gary. "Was the goods missing?"
Gary nods. "Hundreds of pounds of foodstock, gone. Three cannons and twelve defenders."
I shook my head. "There had to be something more valuable than that. The Nightstalker never hit a ship just for food."
Gary grimaces. "Well, chap." He replies. "I haven't heard from the investigator or anything, but Franco was waiting to get a shipment of ground Lunarite from New York. It was, of course, missing too."
I plunge through the sky, the wind whistling in my ears. Below us, an airship continues her nighttime voyage, unaware of our rapid descent. I sling the skyhook, holding the release button as I do. The hooked silver head shoots out on a thin metal cable, biting into the wooden mizzenmast of the ship. I fall past the first row of sails, the skyhook snapping taut when I let go of the button. I arc through the air in a somersault, landing silently on the deck. I do a quick headcount. We had all landed on the deck of the ship. A quick flick of the wrist and our skyhooks retract effortlessly.
I look Gary in his good eye, and speak evenly. "How much?" I ask.
Gary shakes his head. "I don't know for sure." he starts.
"Gary." I interrupt. "How much."
"At least twenty pounds." he admits. "I can't be sure exactly how much, but Franco was looking to get it for Dr. Buck over in the Newsome outer limits. You could ask him if you're feeling brave."
Dr. Buck... He's one of those scientist-types who have more brains than common sense. His experiments tend to work, and several have been sold for a high price to protect the city. However... some of his more spectacular failures have left both doctors and the fire brigade quite busy on occasion.
The four men on watch that night didn't see us land near the rear of the vessel. We advanced, and four of us slink closer to the watchmen while one covered the doors leading belowdecks. Above was the pilot, and my job. I carefully creep up the steps to the Forecastle, pulling back the hammer of my flirearm. I get in position, and see the pilot tending the ship's wheels and gauges.
"Now!" I exclaim, loud enough to be heard by the others.
We stand as one. The pilot turns when he hears my voice. Shock registers on his face.
I try to blink away the memories. "No, I'll talk to him only if I have to." I try to sound confident, but I'm starting to wish I had ordered some alcohol instead of water.
"Just be careful if you plan on setting out to any ruins, all right?" Gary says with a wink, his humor quickly returning. "I don't want to see my favorite scavenger get kidnapped by pirates."
I stand, and walk to the coat rack. My coat is a bit threadworn compared to Gary, but I don't really make a lot of money scrounging; just enough to get by.
"Sure thing." I say, slipping the coat on over my vest. The familiar weight of the derringer in my right pocket settles comfortably at my side.
"I tell you, the Nightstalker is back. I guarantee it." Gary says before turning his attention to his old world scotch.
I turn, pop my hat off the hook over my coat and settle it on my head.
The pilot's shock only increases as I pull the trigger, hitting him in square in the chest. The puff of smoke was precluded by the sharp whistle of lunarite powder igniting. The pilot fell to the deck, dead or dying. I slip forward and pull the levers to all ahead stop, cutting off the propellers.
I look up as my ship, the Nightstalker, swept in on silent sails outspread like a kite's wings. Captain Montresser would be pleased.
I look over the saloon one more time before slipping out into the dark of the night. "I hope that it isn't." I whisper to myself. "Because the Nighstalker is dead."
I set off at a slow pace down the stairs, the damp misty air caressing my cheeks and ears as I walk. The steps down from the fourteenth floor were dimly lit. The saloon, named Rudyard's, was one of the few establishments at the top of the city.
The light from the burning gas lamps set at every intersection provided dim ambient light in an otherwise dark city. Built like a fort, the outer walls were two foot thick solid stone, reinforced with iron bands and gaslamp spotlights to look out for threats. The city streets were orderly, neat grids of cobblestones that were neatly split down the center with half foot wide sewer grates.
The telltale 'click click tang!' of a street sweeper reaches my ears right as I'm about to take the final step off the stairs, so I pause. I hold the brim of my hat so the bowler wouldn't fly off when it passed.
The street sweeper, driven by one of the cleaners, was a strange mechanical beast. Made of brass and iron, the metal monstrosity was designed to look like a water strider, with four dinner plate sized wheels on the end of mechanical limbs. It's belly was split down the middle, and either side had two larger brush wheels that scrubbed the street. They were aligned so that they pushed any debris into the center sewage drain. The tail of the thing stuck down, and stuck into the sewer grate directly below it. The 'click click tang' was the sound of the tail dragging along each segment of grate, spraying water.
The pilot rode on top, guiding it with a set of four switch-handled levers that looked more complicated than would be necessary. That seat was at the very front, the open air 'head'. Behind the seat was a large brass tank of water sitting over the steam engine powering it, with the tail coming out the far back end. The main body was eight feet above the streets, the brushwheels being quite large in size.
The cleaner tipped his hat at me as he motored on by, his goggles spattered with grime. The steam engine puffed and hissed, audible at close range. It moved at the speed of a man jogging, so it must have been burning ordinary coal.
Belowdecks, the six of us are the first to start the search through the hold. We tear through several trunks before we found the chest. An iron strongbox, it weighs nearly two-hundred pounds. Verner and Lucy were the strongest of us, so they carry it up out of the hold. Around us the other members of our crew dug through the pockets of the dead for valuables, gleaned the discards we left behind for anything of worth. Looting wasn't our responsibility; we were there on a mission.
I watch Lucy and Verner set the trunk down in front of Mister Sluice. The man stooped and ran his hand over the metal.
"Open it." he commands, stepping back.
I start to step forward, but Verner reached down and started picking the lock. He quickly had it off, and threw open the lid.
The strongbox had four bars of gold in it, each weighing over forty pounds. But the center of the box was full of chalky white pebbles. In the starlight they look almost opalescent.
I step out into the street now that the vehicle had passed. Ordinarily the street sweepers try to avoid running over civilians, but accidents have happened. Usually getting hit by the brush-wheels was only messy and embarrassing. The road clear, I set off north towards my apartment.
I spent the last two years prospecting for Newsome City, but I've never really gotten any large claims. Many of the obvious ones are too dangerous to go to without a heavily armed escort, and the really big sites in the cities are sheer suicide to land anywhere near. Even the air is toxic and I've been told that some of the cities are still burning.
I manage to get to my apartment without meeting another soul, which was already a bit suspicious to me. I don't expect company in the late night, but there's enough homeless and destitute that I expected to run into someone along the way.
I climb the steps to my apartment, and the hairs on the back of my neck start to stand up. Instinctively I shove my hand into my coat pocket. The cold steel of the derringer sticks to my sweating palm as I climb the next step, anticipating violence.
Maybe I'm just paranoid.
I reach the landing for the third floor, and find that someone had turned the gas lamp down, snuffing it out. Before stepping onto the landing, I do something most wouldn't; I close my eyes, hold my breath and listen. It was something I learned to do a long time ago, and it has already saved my life several times.
Mr. Sluice plucked up one of the pebbles, looking it over. His expression slowly changing from one of concentration to a scowl.
"Ballocks!" Sluice exclaimed, dropping the pebble back into the pile. "Our informant was wrong. That's lunarite, but it's only half the purity we were told!"
A strong, clear woman's voice shouts over the sound of both ships steam engines. The captain.
"We've been set up, boys!" she cried, standing on the forecastle of The Nightstalker. "Disengage and prepare for combat!"
I look up from the chest to see three New American ships closing in on us, their decks alight with men prepping cannons. One of them fires a volley, cannonshot blasting into the ship we had just captured. Two men were sent screaming off the side, while the rest of us scramble to get what we had in our hands aboard the Nightstalker.
Another volley of cannonshot barely missed our vessel as Captain Montresser spun the wheel, jerking us out of the way of most of it. One cannonshot grazed the deck only a yard from me, sending splinters into my shins but otherwise leaving me intact.
"They mean to board us!" Mr. Sluice cried out, pointing. Each of the three ships had at least a dozen soldiers on deck, sabers drawn and firearms in hand.
"They will try!" Captain Montresser replied. "Prepare for boarders!"
I raise my skyhook. It was time to fight.
I caught the sound of someone taking a breath and holding it right after mine, and another breathing quiet and shallow a few paces closer to me. I didn't hear more than the two. I dig my free hand into a belt pouch and withdrew a packet of flashpowder. I let out my held breath and step off the stairs.
I sense, more than hear the whistle of something coming for my head. I duck frantically, and something cleanly takes my hat off my head and hits the iron newel post, causing a dull Clang to ring through the night. The bastard killed my hat with a lead pipe!
I lurch forward, ramming my shoulder into the man's gut, knocking him back. Whoever he was, his gut was densely packed muscle. Couldn't be a scavenger or petty thief, probably ex-
military or pro enforcer.
I throw my packet of flash powder at the wall next to us as I squeeze my eyes shut. The rough iron pellet in the packet grinds with the gunpowder and phosphorus, exploding with a dull pop and a bright flash of light that I could see through my eyelids. Since I was prepared, I am able to act while they recover.
The guy next to me grunts, and the pipe clips my shoulder as I try to stand, pain radiating dully from where it tapped me. I duck again, but instead of ramming him I wrap my arms around his calf and heave, standing as I grunt with effort.
The man was thrown off balance, and with my help, went right over the balcony. A scream burst out for a brief moment before the Crunk of a body hitting cobblestones interrupted it. It was only the third floor, there was a good chance he'd survive.
...Did I mention I don't fight fair?
I turn to the other and point the derringer. "Don't move." I growl, clicking the hammer into place. The other person's breathing stopped.
"You're going to tell me who sent you, and then you're going to walk out of here unharmed." I declare, reaching out for the gaslight valve. The valve turns, clicking a flint built into the mechanism and igniting the lamp. Light flooded the third floor landing.
Beatrice Landau stood over the unconscious body of the second enforcer, a needle sticking from his neck. She pulled the steel needle out, wiped it down with a silk handkerchief, and slid it into the leather pocket designed to hold two dozen needles in their own little steel capped sleeves. She clicked the clasp of the pocket closed and smiled at me.
"It seems that I had some competition for your attention." she said demurely.
I roll my eyes. I've heard about her and seen her on occasion, though usually not personally. She was an acrobat by day and professional entrepreneur by night... I basically labeled her a cat burglar.
She was wearing a long skirt, knee high aviator's boots, and a black short sleeve blouse with gold thread trim. She had finger-less brown leather gloves that matched her boots and her raven black hair was done up in a bun held in place with ivory sticks she must have gotten at great expense. Her face was plain, though she was in excellent condition from her time as an acrobat.
"It seems I'm popular tonight." I mutter.
I don't lower the gun. She glances at the derringer's barrel and then back to me. "I'm glad you didn't shoot in the dark, you might have hit me."
"I still might." I admit, wavering the tiny gun on purpose. "These derringers are made with hair triggers. Any sudden moves and it might go off."
Her eyes widened. "You'd shoot little old me?"
I shrug with the shoulder of my free hand. "Well, you didn't tell me who sent you. I can't guarantee you'll walk out unharmed. I have to be a man of my word."
Beatrice raises an eyebrow and frowns at me. "I didn't know a Sky Pirate could be a man of his word. You must have truly turned over a new leaf."
I almost shoot her that instant.
"You're mistaken." I growl. "I'm Isaac Crowe. I'm a prospector from-"
"Please, let's drop the facade." she interrupts me. "And put the gun down."
"No."
She sighs. "Not going to make this easy, are you?" she asks.
"Nope."
"Fine." she huffs. I almost miss the strange twist of her wrist.
I lurch back, trying to pull the trigger on the derringer. Something shiny flits through the air at me and I feel a sting in my hand in almost the same instant. The gun doesn't fire.
What on earth? My hand goes numb, but it doesn't go loose. The firearm is still clutched in it and quickly the numb feeling spreads up my forearm to my elbow.
It's a strange sensation, like I had fallen asleep on my arm.
"Do you like that?" Miss Landau asks, "I think I did manage to hit a nerve."
"What did you do?" I ask.
She smiles at me and waves a hand like it's nothing. "Oh, just a little Chinese secret I learned from a family of railroad workers a few years back." she replies. "Their medicine is quite intermixed with their mysticism. Why, did you know that I could have hit a nerve in your arm and stopped your heart?"
I try to make my hand move. Nothing. The needle protrudes from just above my wrist. I grab the tip that sticks out. She shouldn't have given me the time-
"Oh I wouldn't do that." she replied. "That nerve that stops your heart... well it's right next to the one that can paralyze your arm. You might hit it if you pull it out wrong."
I let my arm drop with a sigh, the needle still protruding. I had no way of knowing if she was lying. She seemed sincere.
"So," I mutter. "What do you want?"
She smiled at me again. "Tea would be a fabulous start. Then we can talk about a business proposition I have for you that could make you rich."

Do you wanna...

Read a story?

I've been writing some for a second series I'm working on. It's a bit unique, a Post-Apocalyptic Steampunk book called MOONFALL.

That's right. Steampunk. After the apocalypse. It'll be great.

I'm sure that many of my readers would love to hear that I spend every waking second of my life writing the next book for Spellscribed. And I am working on it. MOONFALL is a second project of mine that's started making some progress.

I was thinking, if people wanted, I could post a bit of it on my blog.

Please comment below and let me know. I won't post it if I don't hear enough clamour. :p

Pact Infernal - A Summary of Demonology

Though Elementalism and Demonology are similar arts on the surface, calling an elemental is a whole different thing from summoning demons. While an elemental is called up of the existing animating force present since the creation of the world, demons are called from somewhere beyond the reach of the world.

Demonology is referred to as a 'quick and dirty' path to power. Books on demons exist, including everything from formula for spells to protect against a demon you've summoned to diagrams detailing the anatomy and abilities of demons. The information circulates magical communities, whether human or elven, and provides a quick way to come into power, should you simply have the will to make it happen.

How, you may ask, did these tomes of knowledge come into being in the first place? It's a simple answer: The demons gave the knowledge to mortals so they could be summoned.

Demons, through all their alien thoughts and reasoning, are inherently drawn to mortals to interact with. Though it may not make sense to scholars, demons are not mortal and yet represent amplified personages of mortal minds.

The most easily notable are the seven excesses. Because they represent an emotion felt/experienced by millions of mortals, those demons are some of the strongest existant. Other demons fill categories of mortal feelings, including several breeds that fell within Misery or Fear. 

To demons, mortals were a source of sustenance and power. To most, their sustenance came not in flesh and bone, but power drawn from mortals experiencing the thing they exemplified. For lust, the Succubi gained sustenance when a mortal was sexually aroused, even more so when brought to complete sexual abandon. Wrath had been known to possess their victims, amplifying their vessel's rage to supernatural levels and feeding on what came after. Demons of pride whispered secrets into the ears of those in charge of others as they slept, subtly guiding their plans.

While there were of course other demons who literally treated mortals as food, many of them desired something different from them. If possible, demons would reside in the world permanently. And so they seeded the books of their knowledge into the world.

Demon summoners become familiar with a concept known as 'The Barrier'. It is a defense that prevents demons from coming through the world except in places where the geomantic energies align closely with the geomancy of the demon realm, which gives powerful enough demons the chance to get something through. Otherwise, the barrier acts more like a membrane instead of a wall. it is pliable yet unyielding, and even the greatest of efforts can only temporarily enter the world. Demons entering the world found the elasticity of the barrier would snap them back moments after arriving.

This barrier is the reason why summoning is so structured. Without the barrier, demons would have invaded and overrun the world long ago. The only way a demon could remain on the world is if someone on that side held out a metaphorical hand to hold onto. This is the function that a summoning circle performs; it is a hook that holds the rubber band in place so it doesn't snap back.

The anchoring is worked by the summoning spell, but is contingent upon the balance of wills between the summoner and the demon. The one who wins such a battle gains control of the anchor and can banish the other (or themself) back to their home realm at will. This is why demons will fight the summoner's will; few creatures would give up the chance to remain in the world without repurcussion.

Summoning knowledge is taboo among the magical community; not strictly legal, but extensive practice is frowned upon, as it is also extremely dangerous. That said, almost every mage's library contains copies of the infernal texts, despite the fact that many of the originals haven't even arrived in the world yet, since time flows differently in that side.

Even a novice can follow the directions in an infernal manual and summon the weakest of demons. This 'slave' type of demon acts as a tutor and servant, teaching the summoner more about the demonic arts and showing time and time again how 'handy' demons can be, helping the summoner to both learn how to summon more powerful demons as well as grow dependent on their powers.

Though this entry has discussed only demons, there are a few things that can be reasoned from the information gleaned. First, the demons need the power they gain from interacting with humans. Second, all understanding of existance indicates there is a balance. Life and death. Light and dark.

Is there an opposite to the demons?